


Worth Keeping

by vehlr



Series: AU: A Love Worth Keeping [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fake Character Death, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4458065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra Pentaghast shows up three years after her death. Varric is, to say the least, somewhat emotional.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Varric Tethras is unprepared for this particular Tuesday evening.

The door is unlocked, and he pulls out his trusty Colt from his belt as he gently opens the door. The soft sound of the television permeates through the apartment. The kitchen looks like a bomb had hit it, with cornflakes crunching underfoot. Whoever it is, they have cleaned him out of cereal. He shuffles into the lounge area, gun raised as the silhouette on the couch continues to feast on the contents of the bowl. Moving quietly around, he catches her face in profile -

His jaw drops.

Her hair was long, longer than he could ever imagine it being, and there were lines across her face from a life lived too close to the edge, but there was no forgetting those eyes. Cassandra Pentaghast lets the spoon linger in her mouth as she looks up to find him pointing a gun at her face. She swallows the mouthful before smiling weakly.

“Hello.”

He lowers the gun, voice cracking in disbelief. “Seeker?”

The look of relief on her face is wonderful and entirely impossible. Cassandra has been dead for three years.

*

He makes coffee, because it is something to do.

“I was at your funeral, Seeker. I wrote a eulogy. People cried, it was terribly moving.” He does not tell her that _he_ cried, that they had to help him down from the podium because he could not carry on knowing she was gone, really truly gone -

She shifts awkwardly, looking out of place in his kitchen. “I wanted to go, but Leliana said it would be a bad idea.”

His grip tightens on the mug as he pours the drinks. “Nightingale was in on it?”

She tilts her head, frowning. “I gave her a letter to give to you. Did she not?”

He remembers the letter. He had not even opened it. _Keep your secrets, Seeker,_ he had thought at the time _. I have nobody to tell now anyway._ “I got it,” he grunts, “just never read it. Dead people rarely have anything good to say.”

There is a strange look on her face as she rests against the kitchen table, one hand coming up to rub at her neck awkwardly. “Oh,” she says, and there is a world of emotion behind it that even Varric cannot ignore.

“What?”

“I – no, I just… I assumed you would have done.”

“Why? You’d never write anything important. Things that matter were always done face to face.”

“I did not have the chance. Things moved quickly. But I suppose it matters little now.”

He considers her for a long moment. “What did it say?”

“Just that I was not dead.”

“Bullshit,” he mutters, and he grabs a chair, dragging it to the fridge before standing on it to reach into a box on top of the unit, the letter in his hands.

She pales slightly. “You _kept_ it?”

“Yeah, well, it was from you.” He rips it open with a knife. “Gimme a minute.”

> _Dear Varric,  
> _
> 
> _I am sorry I do not have the luxury of telling you this in person, and I hope that you can forgive the deception I have had to spin – but I am not dead. The woman being buried under my name is a Jane Doe.  
> _
> 
> _The reasons behind this lie are far too complex to fully explore in this letter, but I will say what I can. There is a plot, a group of individuals working against the good people who work to protect our city. They expected me to stand with them. This, I could not achieve as Cassandra Pentaghast. I pray that I will be able to reclaim my name soon, but the truth of it is that I have no idea how far this nughole goes.  
> _
> 
> _I have much to do until I can clear the air and return to… well, as close to a normal life as I can get. I do not know what I will come back to. Life will have moved on, and I fear the part of me that comes home will be stuck in the past. But I do not wish to vanish completely. It is my hope that I can continue to write to you, Varric, if you would allow it. ~~I have grown fond of our evenings together~~ ~~Do you remember that night in the Hanged Man? When we almost kissed~~  
> _
> 
> _I love you. I love you and I wish I could tell you in person but if I never get to see you again I want you to know. I love you, Varric.  
> _
> 
> _C._

His hands are shaking as he drops the letter to the table. “Well,” he says, voice trembling. “That explains a few things.” It burns in his stomach, the feeling that the truth had been so close. And on top of everything, she had _loved_ him. _Maker_. That was a cruel twist to the plot. He turns back to the coffee, busying himself once more.

“You are angry,” she says softly, and he turns, brandishing the coffee pot.

“Why wouldn’t I be angry? You ate all of my cereal! Oh, and you faked your death for _three years!_ ” He slams it down again. “Andraste’s _ass_ , Seeker, I _mourned!_ I grieved and wept and moved on as best I could! And now you just – you just walk in here stir all this shit back up and expect me to be _happy?_ You’re not even a ghost to me anymore – you’re a memory!” 

“What do you want me to say?”

“Fuck, _anything!_ Anything to explain any of this!”

Her hair hangs low, hiding her face for a moment. “I… I should -”

“You are not going _anywhere_ ,” he growls, grabbing her arm and pulling her to face him. Her hair flips back, revealing unshed tears caught in her eyes. “You aren’t going anywhere,” he repeats, softer as he cups her face, “not ever again, you hear me?” The feel of her skin, warm and alive underneath his fingertips, tempers his anger and he can feel his own tears falling down his cheeks. “I haven’t – I haven’t cried in years,” he says quietly, “haven’t talked to anyone about how I felt, haven’t let anyone in. You took it all away, Seeker. The last thread of trust, it went with you to the grave. And all that time, I could have… if I’d just read that damned letter, we could have _talked_ …”

“Varric,” she whispers, voice cracking, “forgive me, please, forgive me -”

“You stupid –“ He stops himself, pulling her down into a tight hug. “Stupid, _stupid_ woman, don’t you _dare_ do that again. Ever again. Fuck, Seeker, _three years -_ ” 

Her arms are tight around his neck, soft sobs muffled into his shoulder, and they remain locked together until his legs ache and his eyes are dry. He is reluctant still to let go of her entirely, one hand lingering at her waist as she straightens, wiping her face with the cuff of her sleeve.

“I like the hair,” he says finally, a weak smile.

She laughs. “Really? I was going to cut it all off again, to be quite honest.”

“No, it suits you.” Reaching up, he brushes it away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “You look like a girl I’d like to know.”

The blush that blooms in her cheeks warms him. “I suppose I could stand to keep it a while longer,” she admits, before reaching out to his own hair, fingers tripping lightly down the small braid that was tucked behind his ear. “Such a small change.”

“Well, someone had to keep the Pentaghast braid going,” he smiles.

Her eyes glitter again. “Oh, Varric…”

“I never could manage to get it all the way over my head, though,” he adds, turning to attend to the cooling drinks. He stops for a moment. “Fuck it. Do you want a real drink?”


	2. Chapter 2

Outside, the storm builds.

Varric cannot quite bring himself to look away from Cassandra – as if she might disappear once more. Her legs still curl up underneath her. In many ways, she is the same. He wishes he could say the same for himself.

“You are quieter,” she says softly. “More content to sit in silence than you were.”

“Yeah.” He nurses his drink, considering his words. “I’m a little lessened. I don’t write as much.”

She perks slightly. “But you still write?”

“From time to time.” He thinks about the half-written story on his laptop, the real story about a woman and a man who fell in love despite the odds, who were never stopped by death’s cruel touch.

“So I have some reading to catch up on?” she asks hopefully, and he chuckles, stretching his arms before letting them come to rest along the top of the couch.

“Yes, there is a new Swords and Shields. I know you love your medieval romance, Seeker. But only one. I, ah… I finished the series.”

She straightens, surprised. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t feel right anymore.” _Not without your input_ , he thinks.

Her face falls for a moment, before she looks abashed. “I – I am glad that you wrote it anyway,” she says quietly. “I know it was not exactly your _favourite_ series to work on -”

“Ah, it was alright. More fun when I found out _you_ read ‘em, of course…”

“Of course.” She settles back against the cushions, smiling slightly. “I hope you did not kill off -”

He shoots her a look. “Spoilers,” he says in a teasing tone that comes surprisingly easy to him, and he cannot help the flare of joy at her answering laugh. Hauling himself from the couch, he pads over to the bookcase, finding it and throwing it over to her. “There. The first page clears up your worries about the cliffhanger, as usual.”

She props the book open on her lap, smile wide. “Thank you.” As he settles back into the comfort of his seat, her hands are careful as they turn the page. He smiles. Having her here, curled around one of his books… _this_ was how it was supposed to be. This was almost like old times.

But then her face falls, fingers tracing the words on the page with a reverent lightness, before she closes the book altogether.

“What’s wrong? I thought it was quite a clever exit, all things considered.”

She looks up at him, offering half a smile. “Oh, I did not get that far.” Opening it again, she reads aloud, voice tightening. “For Cassandra, the happy ending we should have had. I miss you, Seeker.”

 _Oh_. He had forgotten about that, in truth – a half-hearted last minute dedication, he had thought at the time, not nearly worthy of her. But with the revelations of her feelings, he shuffles uneasily as she closes the book once more, wiping at her eyes.

“Yeah, well. It was _true_. I missed you.”

She lets out a hollow sigh. “I missed you too, Varric. An awful, awful lot.” Her head rolls, eyes looking past him. “I did not even – Maker, I have so much to make up for.”

He watches her carefully. There is a tone in her voice that sounds defeated, and he does not care for it. “So do I,” he points out. “If I’d only read –“

“I should not have assumed you would,” she says quietly. “I have assumed much, it seems – that this would be easier, that it would be…” She trails off, shaking her head. “Perhaps I should not have -”

He lunges at her, pinning her to the couch as he glares at her. “Don’t you _dare_ ,” he growls. “Don’t you _dare_ say it. You have _no_ idea -”

“I do!” she snaps, and the sharp edges he remembers are back, the glare met with one of equal force. “I have _every_ idea, Varric, because I wrote a letter that never got read! I wrote a letter and received only silence, and all I could think – all that was _left_ to think, after everything we had been through -”

“Seeker -”

“I thought you could not possibly care for me, to leave such feelings unanswered at all. And it hurt to think that after… after our close calls and near-misses and all our years of friendship… that you could just _disregard_ my words…” She swallows, ducking her eyes. “And I _understand_ now, I know the truth of it, but… for three years I have assumed that one of my dearest friends did not _care_ , and that was worse than the lies, worse than the constant hiding, worse than _anything_ that happened out there. The thought that our… friendship, if nothing else, had meant nothing.”

He stares at her, his chest tight as he swallows.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, but she shakes her head.

“If I had not gone… well, a lot of things would never have happened. And I am sorry that they did. I am sorry that I took three years to come back.” She offers a weak smile. “I am sorry for three years of scars and damage, Varric. I cannot undo that, not ever.”

He nods, his own smile wan. “We’re real fucked up,” he murmurs. It could never work out, not with so much space between them. Three years was too long. “But I did love you,” he adds. “I really did.”

Her eyes shine in the low light, her smile warm. “And I loved you,” she whispers. “Maker, I loved you _so_ much.”

Outside, the storm rages in earnest, a thunderclap deafening them for a split-second as the lightning hits the generators. The power cuts out, plunging them into darkness.

He does not know if he moved first or she did, but it does not matter. What matters is that he has spent three years not moving on, and so had she. His lips collide with hers in a desperate clash, bodies pressing up against one another as his hand curls around her neck, light on her skin. He pushes, and she follows his lead, sinking against the couch with a whimper as he presses his body against hers, feeling her melt beneath him. Her hands grasp for purchase, burying themselves in his hair as another noise escapes her throat. He answers with one of his own, heart threatening to tear out of his chest as he teases her lower lip between his teeth.

And then she shifts, pulling away and looking up at him, eyes blown wide and lips parted and he is overcome by how beautiful she looks, surely she was never so stunning, how had he not kissed her all that time ago?

“Varric,” she breathes, and he _thrills_ to hear his name on her lips in such an intimate manner. “We should -”

“I don’t want to stop.” He trails kisses down her jawline. “I don’t think I _can_ stop. If I stop I’ll wake up, and I can’t – I _can’t_ wake up from this, Cassandra.”

Her hips roll against his, and he rakes his teeth along her throat. “Varric -”

“Let me dream a little longer.”

She cups his face in her hands, entreating him to look up. “I could not bear to hurt you again,” she whispers, “to lose you because we rushed into this without a thought. But I am _here_ , Varric, and I am not going anywhere. I promise.”

He can feel himself starting to crack at the edges again, voice shaking. “A promise is just words. Trust me, I _know_ words. They aren’t worth the paper they’re written on.”

“Then I will find better paper.” She smiles, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I promise,” she murmurs against his skin. “I _promise_.” Another kiss to his cheek. “I am here.” Her lips press against a rogue tear escaping down his other cheek. “ _I am here_.”

His hands tighten around her, eyes closing. “Cassandra –“

She shuffles against the couch, moving until he is in the crook of her body and surrounded by her arms. “Sshh. Relax, Varric.” One hand comes up to rest in his hair, fingers teasing gently through the soft strands. “You said you had not let anyone in,” she continues in a soft voice. “You must have hurt a lot over all that time.” Another kiss, light against his forehead. “Here is safe, if you want to let it go.”

He stares up at her, and his walls crumble. He lets every hurt and sorrow out in gasping sobs, every pain answered with hushed murmurs and her tender kisses. She gives him every ounce of her patience, every drop of her time, everything she would have given him had he only opened that damned letter three years ago. And somewhere, in the middle of his aching sorrow and her terrified regret, they find each other once again, lips stealing soft kisses from one another amongst a battlefield of tears.

The storm howls around them.

*

The morning sun is warm on his skin, but Varric only has eyes for the woman he is curled around on that shitty couch in the lounge. Her hair is long, her skin has suffered a few more scars, but there was no denying that Cassandra Pentaghast was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He shifts as she awakens. “Hey, Seeker.”

“Hi,” she croaks, rubbing her eyes lazily.

“You’re still here,” he murmurs, “you’re not a dream.”

She chuckles, a gorgeous rich and sleepy sound. “I promised.”

He reaches up to brush her hair from her face, smile broad. “Yeah, you did.” And he leans up, pressing his lips against hers, slow and tender. She was here, really here, and he was not about to waste another second on hesitation.


End file.
